The Tracey Fragments

The Tracey Fragments

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Bruce McDonald's
adaptation of Maureen Medved's stream-of-consciousness teen novel The Tracey
Fragments
turns the screen into an ever-shifting mosaic, with anywhere from two to 20
separate images appearing at the same time. Some show different angles on the
same action, and some show what's going through the mind of the title
character, played by a pre-Juno Ellen Page. Dubbed "the titless wonder" by her
peers, Page is a miserable high-school student with a grumpy father and a
distant mother. When her younger brother disappears on her watch, Page begins a
cold journey through the Toronto night, winding up naked, wrapped in a shower
curtain, and riding the city bus. As Page reflects on how she ended up this
way, McDonald uses her anxiety as the foundation for an audacious formal
experiment, intended to depict the inherent schizophrenia of the adolescent
mind.

McDonald isn't the first
to play with multi-screens, but he achieves some effects here that elevate The
Tracey Fragments
above the usual indie mope-fest. Without the visual play, Medved's story of "a
normal girl who hates herself" wouldn't be all that exceptional, and even with the screens-within-screens,
The Tracey Fragments is bogged down by a needlessly punishing plot, an overly familiar
lead character, and a Page performance that sticks with the same
unimposing-but-sassy persona she's been working since Hard Candy. Yet while McDonald's
collage approach is hit-and-miss, there are moments in The Tracey Fragments as exhilarating as any in
recent indie cinema. Some are funny, as when McDonald designs fake opening
credits for the romantic comedy Page wishes she was living. Some are heartbreaking,
as when Page looks at the cover of a celebrity gossip magazine and imagines a
frenzied life for herself as half a rock 'n' roll power couple. And some are
borderline revelatory, as when McDonald shows Page running through her dingy
suburban backyard while horses gallop in the frames beside her and the
soundtrack blares a cover of Patti Smith's song "Land," which is yet another
riveting, erratic piece of pop art about how it feels to be young, horny, and
sad.